Goddess Volume One Descention: Book 2: Combustion
by Haley Mitchell
Summary: A new villian rises from the ashes and Batman is hot on his trail. This story continues the re-edited version of the former Goddess: Descention Volume 1. Book 2 is part of a longer tale but stands alone as a separate story. New content begins in Book 3. Rated T for Violence.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is based upon the world or worlds and characters created by the imaginative minds behind DC comics of which I do not own rights. _

_I also do not claim the rights to the poetry used to inspire each chapter._

_I do however claim rights to the characters I have created in this work._

_Any similarities of characters named or described in this work to real people alive or dead is purely coincidental._

* * *

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book Two: Combustion**_

_**Prologue: Connections**_

* * *

**Lightening Is A Yellow Fork**

**_Of mansions never quite disclosed_**

**_And never quite concealed_**

**_The Apparatus of the Dark_**

**_To ignorance revealed._**

_Emily Dickinson_

_(1830-1886)_

* * *

_Gotham City, days after the Arkham escapes__…_

Commissioner Gordon was in his office reading statements… perhaps deciphering was a better word. Over the last few days Gordon and his team had been interviewing witnesses and inmates concerning the asylum escapes. Of the witnesses, the Arkham staff were at least coherent but they didn't seem to know much about who orchestrated the whole affair, all the police could get from them was a definitive timeline. The Arkham inmates however were a completely different kettle of fish. Trying to get the truth from hardened felons in lock-up was difficult enough, from the inmates in Arkham, it was next to impossible.

The insane didn't make for very good witnesses Their own varied insanities colored their testimonies and they made up the parts they didn't understand or know about. Gordon's notebook read like a Picasso; the disjointed and confusing statements made for interesting reading but not much made any actual sense. Everything from angels and faeries to aliens and demons were all responsible for the riot. One inmate insisted it was the 'pod-people' that had taken over the government. Some said the asylum officials planned to raze the entire island and kill all the inmates and make it look like a horrible accident because it had become too costly to care for the patients there. That one interested Gordon because several inmates had testified to similar versions of that story and it was almost plausible.

Gordon personally knew a number of city officials who would like nothing better than to have Arkham Asylum disappear from the face of the earth. Gordon had to admit, if only to himself, that it wouldn't be a bad thing, but it was just dinner-party talk, winsome fantasies and speculations on how to make Gotham a better place… just talk. Some said if they could, they would shut the place down and ship the inmates off to other installations around the country, but secretly Gordon knew a few that would be more than happy to let the blight of Gotham, Arkham Island and it's insane population, sink into the bay never to be seen again.

The Arkham Prison Warden, _Administrator _Talbot steadfastly refused to believe that any of his people initiated such a ridiculous idea and after all it was just a rumor. But whether it was true wasn't the point. If enough of the prisoners believed the lie, it didn't have to be true to incite a riot.

Gordon had no solid evidence, just a gut feeling as to who instigated the chaos at the asylum and used it to escape; Dr. Jonathon Crane. In many ways Crane was the most dangerous inmate in Arkham, besides the Joker. As the Scarecrow he sought to inspire fear but it wasn't just the burlap mask he wore, the mind under that mask was much more frightening. He saw people as nothing more than test-subjects in his insane experiments. His goal wasn't to kill, though he had no qualms against it and many had indeed succumbed to his toxins, dying horrifying deaths. What he did was study people and the affects his toxins had on them in order to perfect the purest and most absolute form of fear, all in the name of science. He was absolutely insane but he was also highly intelligent. He didn't need his poison to inspire dread, all he needed to do was talk to you, to get inside your brain and once there he could twist it into jelly.

Crane also ran the asylum for years before his illicit experiments were discovered. He, more than any other inmate knew the inner workings of a facility that size, the cost, the personnel, the politics and he knew the labyrinth that was Arkham Asylum intimately. He had years to study the place, to find the hidden tunnels and concealed rooms, the secret labs many of which he himself used. He knew it's twisted passages like he knew his own twisted mind.

Crane not only knew the building, he also knew those incarcerated with him. The more Gordon looked into the case files of the inmates of the east-wing the more dismayed he became: Crane was locked up inside the prison's east-wing with many of his own former patients. Gordon was appalled at such an oversight. Talbot had stuttered and back-pedalled but he could offer no real excuse for such an irresponsible and dangerous lapse in judgement.

After that stunning realization Gordon had personally interviewed many of Crane's former patients. Even with their limited grasp of reality, Gordon soon understood that the prisoners of Arkham saw Crane not as just another inmate, like themselves, but something much more. Many saw him as the doctor he used to be; a person of authority, a leader. They believed what he said because he seemed to offer them something their real doctors could not; a justification for their fears. He believed them, he made them accept that their insane imaginings were real, neutralizing everything the real doctors of the asylum were trying to do to help their patients. For years Crane used his professional psychiatric training to sow fear in the minds of every person he came in contact with. Gordon had no doubt Crane set the whole thing up, probably months ago but he couldn't have done it alone…

Jim Gordon was tired, he had slept maybe four hours in the last forty-eight. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose and felt the headache coming. When he looked down at the reports in front of him his glasses still on his desk he noticed one of the lenses had magnified the words beneath it, and one word stood blatantly out… Zsasz.

What about Victor Zsasz? He shouldn't have been in the east-wing at all. He had questioned Talbot about that unfortunate occurrence and had been told that Zsasz was brought to the medical wing for treatment weeks ago. Apparently he had taken to re-living his past exploits and re-opened many of his old scars to 'heighten' the experience and the scratches became infected. It was disgusting but it got him in the east-wing; in the right place, at the right time. Talbot said it was just an unfortunate coincidence but Gordon didn't believe in coincidence. If Crane orchestrated the whole thing then he must have gotten word to Zsasz somehow, but why him? Was Zsasz just another diversion?

The thought of Victor Zsasz running loose sent a chill down Gordon's spine. As bad as Crane was or any of the other Arkham inmates for that matter, excluding perhaps The Joker, Zsasz was the most unpredictable. The others were all a catastrophe waiting to happen but their schemes all had a method to their assorted madness', some sort of twisted logic that could be followed but with Zsasz there was no logic. The only certainty that they could be sure of with him out in the world… was a rising body count.

Gordon sat back in his chair and tried to stretch the aches out of his back and shoulders. He reached for his coffee mug only to find it empty. It was as good an excuse as any to stretch his legs, he rose and went in search of a warm pot of coffee, but his mind was still at his desk struggling to find a connection between Jonathon Crane and Victor Zsasz.

When he returned to his office, a lukewarm cup in his hand Gordon found a black folder resting prominently in the middle of his desk as his office door closed silently behind him. He was startled to see the shadow behind it move and gain substance; Batman stepped forward. He always surprised Gordon when he did that, just appeared as if from nothing. Gordon was startled but he didn't mind, if he was here it meant he's found something.

"Evening, Commissioner."

"Good to see you," Gordon gestured with his cup, "Coffee?"

"No thank-you."

"Any luck tracking our newest batch of escapees?"

"I have a few leads"

"Anything you'd like to share?"

Batman gestured toward the folder on the Commissioner's desk, "Just that, for now."

Gordon sat at his desk and opened the file. "This is a copy of one of our own case files from a couple of years ago, the last time Zsasz was loose."

Victor Zsasz killed seven people the last time he escaped Arkham before Batman found him. Seven dead, including a family of four, with two children. Batman came close to the line that time. During the struggle to apprehend him, Zsasz gloated about them, the little ones he'd called them. Batman broke his arm, several ribs and his jaw just to shut him up.

"It's also the connection… between Crane and Zsasz."

Gordon looked up at the man standing in shadow, _can he read minds now too?_

Gordon turned the page, "Nancy Hollan was a nurse in Arkham, one of the victims you found…"

"She was related to Zsasz' last victims… the family."_ A grandmother__…_"I found skin samples under her fingernails that matched Victor Zsasz' DNA."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, when the morgue gets the results back from her autopsy they'll find the same thing."

Gordon marvelled at how quickly Batman got his results, DNA testing normally takes weeks. "Hers was one of the three bodies you found in the stairwell in the east-wing."

"Yes." The memory of her and the two guards floating over a pool of blood, and the third eye in the middle of their foreheads ghosted through his mind.

"I don't see a connection yet."

"It's all in the file. She was employed at Gotham General, but two years ago she began training as a psychiatric nurse, quit the hospital and began working at Arkham five months ago."

"She was trying to get close to Zsasz, to kill him?"

"Maybe, but because of her extensive medical training and experience she was stationed in the infirmary, in the east-wing, far from Zsasz, but close to Crane."

Gordon flipped through a few pages and stopped at a list of Crane's activities; therapy sessions, medical examinations and visitors and saw the nurse's name pop up several times. "Seems Nurse Hollan and Dr. Crane got on well together. Pretty bold, or desperate; trying to use Crane to get to Zsasz."

"Crane used her, used her grief and hatred of Victor Zsasz and made her into an unknowing collaborator in his escape plan. I found her fingerprints on a dead guard's key-card. The same key-card that opened the doors to Crane's cellblock. Then, when she outlived her usefulness, he turned her over to Zsasz, who killed her."

Gordon looked back down at the file, "Says here she had a husband…"

"You might want to question him."

"I will, personally, he must have known what she was doing."

"And if he did, she might have told him something that could give us a clue as to Crane's plans after the escape."

"We've heard nothing from any of the other escapees either, with Crane and Zsasz loose I know they aren't a priority but…" Gordon, shook his head, he was getting too old for this.

Batman looked down at his friend behind his desk. He was tired, that much was evident but it was more than that, he almost seemed despondent. Batman needed James Gordon, he was a vital link between what Batman and his allies did and the justice system. James Gordon made Batman's job significantly easier and at a certain amount of risk to himself. Gordon walked a political tightrope by secretly helping Batman and his allies. Thiers was a strange friendship but a friendship nevertheless, built on mutual respect. Batman understood to some degree the stress Jim Gordon was under in running the police force of a large crime-ridden city and he would do as much as he could to alleviate as much of that pressure on his friend as he could. "I have a lead I'm following Jim, we'll find them."

Gordon nodded and was about to say something when his phone rang, he turned to answer it and when he turned back he was startled again to find that he was alone in his office… _How the hell does he do that?_

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book Two: Combustion**_

_**Part One: Ashes**_

* * *

**Fire And Ice**

**_Some say the world will end in fire,_**

**_Some say in ice._**

**_From what I__'__ve tasted of desire_**

**_I hold with those who favor fire._**

_Robert Frost_

_(1874-1963)_

* * *

_Gotham City_

_Arkham Island, The Broken City_

Scarred and wounded by the earthquake that ravaged Gotham only a handful of years ago, The Broken City was what they called the island now. No building or structure was left unscathed, many tilted dangerously, as if a brisk wind could topple them. Others leaned against one another, their roofs meeting in a collection of buckling timber, cement and crumbling brick; transforming the dark alleys beneath them into perilous tunnels. During the quake entire streets sunk into the ground and buildings fell over them covering the monstrous gap, creating an under-city that would never again see the light of day.

Arkham Island had been a city within a city before and it remained so; people lived there still. They were not all criminals or escaped Arkham inmates, some were just incredibly unlucky, and others simply had no desire to live under anyone else's rules. They were the forgotten citizens, the homeless, the hopeless addicts, the people that for whatever reason could not survive within society: They came to the Broken City and thrived there, outside of it. Even the gangs and the other more organized criminal elements of Gotham shunned the island, there was little money to be made in the desolate ruins, but it was a great place to hide.

The people of the Broken City lived in fear. They isolated themselves because they feared each other, they hid because they feared authority but they survived because ultimately, they feared death. They huddled in the ruins as far from the prison as possible because they feared Arkham Asylum more than the rest of Gotham City, with good reason: Since they lived outside of society they also lived outside it's protection. They didn't want the authorities meddling in their underground community any more than they wanted an insane inmate threatening their lives, so when they had found the escaped madman in their midst, they were on their own.

Just days after the escape Batman began seeing the signs: On the east-side docks, in the Bowery, Old Town and Crime Alley. Graffiti across the city was prevalent, even his own symbol was used and abused by many artists; usually as a challenge or to show contempt but sometimes it was used as a symbol of deference or as a message. Like hieroglyphics or pictograms, graffiti meant something to the artist and their affiliations and if one paid attention one could see or read it's hidden message.

They were everywhere, these small stylized bats, and as far as graffiti art goes they were not well done and always painted over a crack or a flaw; in a wall, on a sidewalk. That could mean someone was out to 'break the bat'. He'd seen it before, and it usually meant there was a new price on his head or they upped the reward of an old one. That only happened when he had taken out someone important, or did some major damage to one of the street gangs, the mob or anyone with the money to contract a hit. But Batman didn't think that was the case this time, he believed it meant someone in Broken City desperately wanted to talk to him. Each symbol had a tag; a signature, barely recognizable squiggles that resembled an 'SQ': And Batman knew who that was.

He was known as Squirrel and as far as anyone knew he didn't have a name or an identity beyond that. He was a scavenger. He had a knack for finding things and holing them away until they could be used or traded. He had caches all over Broken City that contained everything from cash and jewellery to food and batteries. By the standards on the island, he was wealthy. If anyone in the Broken City needed something bad enough Squirrel could find it, if he didn't already have it stashed away somewhere.

Squirrel was a lean and wiry black teenager who was fast on his feet, with a quick wit to match; qualities that allowed him to survive on his own so long in the Broken City. He had grown up on the island and had no desire to leave and join mainstream society. He lived in the moment with no thought of the future; of where he would be in twenty years. No one on the island thought about things like that: Perhaps it was time for his alter ego, Bruce Wayne to focus some of his vast wealth and resources on the Broken City and find a way to reach the people there.

As he scouted out the island, looking for Squirrel, Batman left messages of his own. He placed small bat-shaped shuriken all over the Broken City, but they weren't in random locations. Batman had positioned each carefully at the entrance of each structure that contained one of Squirrel's hidden caches. Batman knew the relevance would not be lost on the young-man, it would shake him up knowing the Batman knew where he hid his loot. He marked every spot he knew about except one and there, he waited.

The abandoned grocery store, was nothing more than a shell now. The ceiling had collapsed but the walls still stood, and there he crouched in a corner of the leaning roof and waited. The building was out in the open, surrounded by a parking lot which offered a good view of the area. If this turned out to be a trap rather than a meeting Batman would see them coming.

After a time his patience was rewarded; he could see a figure skirting the area around the open lot. The infra-red lenses over his eyes could see only one heat signature; a meeting then, not a trap.

Squirrel slowly approached the building and was relieved that he didn't see any tiny metal bats anywhere, so far. When he found the first one he was alarmed, after the fourth he was beside himself. The Bat could ruin him. It would take forever to find new places and secretly move his goods. He checked the inventory at each site and nothing seemed to be missing, yet.

Squirrel didn't like this, he should never have called the Bat here and drew attention to himself. He had spent years accumulating his 'stock', and now his entire operation was in danger… _This was a mistake! He__'__s gonna take all my stuff and just give it away or something stupid like that! _

The teenager, believing he had finally found one untouched stash, quickened his steps but froze when he heard a sharp hiss that ended with a metallic ping. Squirrel looked down to see a small bat-shaped shuriken still quivering with the impact of the concrete between his feet. When he looked up he found he was standing in the shadow of the Bat.

"Whoa" he exclaimed as he took a step back, he'd never been this close to the Bat before, "Man! you scared the crap outta me!"

Batman's face was hidden in shadow and his low menacing voice seemed to grind out from the darkness, "You wanted to talk Squirrel, here I am."

"Ya but…" The Bat was so much bigger than he had expected and Squirrel was sure that it wasn't just physical size, it was something more… There was a _presence_ about him that could intimidate even the most hardened of criminals and Squirrel was no different. In spite of his fear however the teenager also knew Batman's rep on the streets: One; the Bat didn't kill and, two; his word was gold, he wouldn't lie to you. The Bat could be dealt with, bargained with even, as long as you weren't his target, and that was the tricky part… staying off his radar. But Squirrel had voluntarily became a blip on the Bat-screen and now his livelihood was in jeopardy.

"Shit man! You know where my stuff's at?"

Batman closed the gap between them and towered over the teenager, "I have no interest in your 'stuff' Squirrel, but I am interested in information…"

In spite of his fright the young man grew bold, "Like anything else dude, info is gonna cost you…"

In the space of a heartbeat the Bat grabbed Squirrel by the collar and lifted him off the ground. For the first time he looked into the glittering eyes of the Batman and his boldness fled. "Okay, okay, there's a dude, he's nasty. Likes to start fires."

"Where?"

"On the south side, in a burned out garage." Batman let Squirrel go and the boy staggered as he backed away a few steps. "He already burned a couple of guys that tried to kick his ass outta here. Last I heard, one won't make it."

Batman turned to leave but paused as Squirrel's boldness returned. "There's more…" He was gambling, as frightened as he was of the Bat, Squirrel felt he stood to lose more than he gained tonight and that gnawed at him. He needed to salvage what he could from this situation… "and I don't care what you do but you won't get it without a fair trade."

"Relieving you of a dangerous maniac isn't enough Squirrel?"

"Man, you would have done that anyway."

Batman turned on the kid, "You're trying my patience…"

"It's about the asylum, but you got to get rid of that fire bug first."

Wordlessly, Batman advanced on the young man, all the more menacing in silence and Squirrel hastily backed away.

"You can beat the crap outta me but you won't get nothing!"

"If you are wasting my time…"

"I-I'm not! But c'mon man, I gotta rep to maintain, and you think I'm not taking a chance just talking to you? Everyone knows you're tight with the cops."

Batman grabbed him again by the collar and towered over the young man, "Here, tomorrow night, and it better be worth it Squirrel." Then he thrust the skinny teenager back and Squirrel fell on his ass.

As the Bat melted back into the shadows Squirrel mumbled curses, then he noticed the bat-shaped shuriken still sticking out of a crack in the concrete. He carefully plucked out the razor-sharp weapon and studied it along with the four others he'd found. _That makes five. Wonder what I can get for these?_

* * *

_Arkham Island_

Charles Cole was on a mission. He had spent the past several days following the natural gas lines all over Arkham Island. He made special note of the damaged ones, where they were and the extent of the damage. There was no gas piped through those lines, they were shut down and re-routed after the quake years ago. He was not worried though, he had already found the juncture where he could override that safety measure and allow the flow of the volatile gas back through, but he wasn't ready for that yet.

As he made his way through the broken and jagged wreckage of the under-city, following the gas lines his mind wandered as it often did. It was the pain, he was told. His mind had to rise above it or it would make him crazy. Sometimes, when a wave of lucidity overcame him he wondered if his mind had risen enough but then his thoughts would turn back to the real light of his life… Rising flames… Falling ashes... And his disquiet concerning his alleged insanity would go up in smoke.

He was twelve when the accident happened. His family was invited to spend the day on a yacht in the Gotham Bay. The rest of his family was overjoyed, but not little Charlie Cole. He hated the water; he disliked being cold and wet but mostly he feared the darkness of it's unfathomable depths. They had to literally drag the boy on board the boat because the last thing Charlie Cole wanted was to be surrounded by the dark endless waters of Gotham Bay.

While his family enjoyed themselves on the sunny deck with their friends he had spent the entirety of the day inside the rocking box battling a queasy stomach and his undying fear of sinking into an airless darkness. Finally the nightmare came to an end, the sun was setting and it was time to go home. He fought back the churning of the waves and the rolling of his empty gut and creeped onto the deck. He watched as the land drew closer and his joy at that sight rose but soon turned to horror as an explosion rocked the craft.

A roar of heat and flame encompassed him. He felt his clothes burning off of his body and he heard the screams of his family and their friends as the fire took them. Charlie stumbled upon the burning deck shrieking and fanning the flames that enveloped him until he fell off the boat.

The cold dark water lessened his physical pain only slightly but his panic increased tenfold as his most ultimate fear became a horrifying reality. He could feel the pull of the endless depths below him as he fought to stay afloat. The lapping waves were louder in his ears than the screams of the people still on the burning yacht. As the sun set and darkness descended Charlie watched the people, his family among them, glow and dance in the flames of the floating inferno as he desperately fought to keep his head above the water that pulled him ever downward and an irrational thought flowered in his panic stricken mind: He would rather be on the boat with them in the that intensely bright firestorm than in the cold, inky-black water of the bay...

Much later he would remember the sight of his family dancing amid the floating firestorm on the dark water. It would haunt his dreams until he came to understand that those dancing flames and the people enveloped with in them had never been so extraordinarily beautiful.

Seventy-five percent of young Charlie Cole's body was seared with third degree burns. He very nearly died a number of times from complications and infections that were aggravated by the polluted water of the Gotham Bay. Still, he survived when no one else on the boat that day did. He had spent a full year in the hospital and he came out a completely different person.

The scarring made Charlie Cole gruesome to look upon. His hair was patchy and thin where it grew sporadically from the few undamaged follicles on his scarred head. His ears were entirely burned away and all he was left of them were small holes surrounded by puckered skin. He could hear well enough but sometimes he had difficulty distinguishing the direction of sound. The doctors had attempted skin-graft surgery but there was little unmarred skin they could use: They concentrated their work on restoring his face, but their efforts did little to diminish his hideous visage as patches of smooth skin battled for dominance over the ravaged planes of his face.

The remainder of Charlie Cole's childhood was as scarred as his body. His teenage years were spent nurturing his new love of the flame and avoiding all other more human contact. Those nearest him, the children he shared quarters with in the boys home stayed away from him for the most part. Some of the younger ones were frightened by him and most pitied him but he was no stranger to ridicule and he endured it with a growing aversion to everyone; those he termed as the unscarred ones.

When the orphanage burned down one night and the panicked boys were all ushered out of the building young Charlie Cole was said to be standing outside the building, watching the conflagration with a smile on his disfigured face and chanting… Rising flames and falling ashes, flames and ashes, ashes and flames… That night sparked the beginning of Charlie Cole's quest to set free the flames and let them dance unhindered again and again and again.

In light of his extensive injuries one would think Charlie Cole would come to fear fire even more than the aquaphobia he had suffered with before the accident. But that was not so. He had suffered such excruciating pain during and long after the incident that he no longer feared it. Pain was the price one paid to witness the beauty, to experience the power and bask in the glory of the flame. If anything his growing obsession with fire had intensified his fear of it's opposite: Water could destroy his precious flame and he hated it more than anything.

Char Cole was what they called him now. He didn't mind at all. The graceful dancing flame had forever marked him, transformed him into what he truly was, what everyone was when all was said and done; done like dinner… Charcoal.

Like many others he had escaped Arkham almost a week ago but unlike them he was still trapped on the island. He had taken one look at the under-water passage the others escaped through and could not bring himself to follow them. Instead he had found another way. He crawled and squeezed through a sewer, hammered his way through a tiny crack in it's slick and disgusting walls and finally clawed his way out. He had emerged under the only working bridge left that led to the mainland but it was crawling with police and other emergency vehicles and under it stretched the black water of the bay. Charlie had escaped incarceration to find he was still imprisoned by his own unnatural fear of water.

Charlie had scoured the island looking for another way to the mainland but the bay was full of harbor patrol boats. The thought of being trapped in another boat made him physically ill and swimming was out of the question. Char Cole had finally surrendered himself to the dismal reality that he would never escape this miserable place. He hated Gotham Bay for everything it took from him including his freedom and he hated Arkham for denying him the only joy left in this life; the eternal dancing flames. His despondency abated however, when he resolved to deal with this dilemma in the only way he could conceive… He would give it to the flames, all of it, everything, this whole diseased island will be cleansed with fire and it will be glorious!

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book Two: Combustion**_

_**Part Two: Under-City **_

* * *

**The Bonfire**

**_Blood-root, and violets so soon to be now. _**  
**_But the black spread like black death on the ground, _**  
**_And I think the sky darkened with a cloud_**

_Robert Frost_

_(1874-1963)_

* * *

_Arkham Island_

_The Broken City_

Before Batman approached the area he had given Alfred some specific instructions and then had him transmit to him all available data concerning Charles Cole; the only serial arsonist that had escaped Arkham. Batman knew of the accident that had caused Char-Cole's disfigurement, he knew of Cole's fear of water and of his obsession with fire; which was textbook pyromania.

When Batman found the burned-out garage that Squirrel had indicated he wondered if Squirrel had ever seen the place; 'burned-out' was a vast understatement. The building, a former gas-station-garage was utterly devastated. The earthquake of years ago had ruptured the two huge underground gas tanks adjacent to the structure causing them to explode. The building had been partially blown away and what was left became part of the crater that was created by the blast. The crater itself was considerable but now, years later it was weathered and full of water, garbage and other debris including parts of the garage that had broken off and fallen away. Charcoal would feel completely at home here in this scorched ruin.

Batman entered the broken structure that teetered on the rim of the crater cautiously, it was obvious that someone had been here recently. The heat sensitive lenses Batman wore over his eyes were rendered useless as residual heat from several small fires still smouldered inside the ruined building. The smell of smoke, gasoline and other flammables permeated the air. In the midst of one of the small smouldering fire-pits Batman found the charred remains of an Arkham-orange prison uniform. He could tell it belonged to Charles Cole from what was left of the inmate ID number stamped on it but of Charcoal, there was no sign.

He could have stayed there and waited for the pyromaniac to return but Batman didn't want to waste the time; it was almost dawn as it was and he knew that Charcoal would be feeling trapped on the island and when confined an animal is at it's most unpredictable and dangerous. Cole had already hurt two people since his escape, Batman had to find him before he could do any more damage.

Batman opened a channel on his com-unit expecting to hear Alfred but the voice that responded was Barbara's… _"__Good morning Bruce.__"_

"Oracle?"

"_The one and only, I__'__m covering for Alfred while he gets some much needed rest. What do you need?__"_

Batman was only slightly dismayed until he realized that it was almost dawn and Alfred had been up all night monitoring him. He wasn't a young man anymore and Bruce had told his butler that it wasn't necessary but ever since that night at Arkham Alfred felt Batman needed constant back-up. The attention was starting to grate on him.

"Martha Four is currently positioned over Gotham, I need you to intensify it's focus on the island and switch the satellite to thermal imaging." The satellite, Martha Four, was equipped with advanced thermal technology that could not only see heat sources on the earth's surface, it could also detect the minute differences in temperature in the atmosphere and pinpoint the subtle passage of heat emitted from even the faint signature of a human body, under the right circumstances.

"_Will do, stand-by__…__ We looking for that firebug?__"_

"Affirmative."

"_Okay, got it. You__'__re standing in a hot spot, I see several heat signatures around you.__"_

"I know… I need you to scan for residual indicators leaving the area." Batman pulled a device from his belt; he unfolded it to reveal a small PDA but powerful enough to receive the real-time data sent from the satellite that hovered far above him.

"_Got one, it__'__s heading__…"_

"Just send me the data."

"_But__…"_Oracle sounded a trifle dejected.

"The data Oracle, and connect me directly with the satellite."

"…_Uploading__…__ I have that information you wanted me to look into__…"_

"Brief me later."

"_You want me to__…"_

"I'll call if I need anything, Batman out." He could hear Barbara's annoyed grumbling just before he closed the connection. It appeared that Alfred had recruited Oracle in the constant watch over his activities. A certain amount of vigilance was acceptable but Barbara could be a little too intrusive and he hadn't been in the mood lately for a running dialogue with her or anyone else. There were too many things on his plate right now that urgently needed to be attended to and he didn't have the time to deal with the distractions of his extraneous associations and their unwarranted concern. His only focus right now was his job, it was all he had.

The eternal haze that shrouded Gotham City was invisible at night but as pre-dawn advanced the pollution that hovered in the sky over the city emitted a reddish-purple glow. Soon the sun would be up and the summer warmth would obliterate the already fading heat signature left by the last person present at this location. Batman quickly followed it in a roughly north-eastern direction. He wasn't a hundred-percent sure it was Cole but the odds were with that assumption. And, according to the satellite image there were no other heat trails leaving the area in any other direction; it was his only lead and he had to follow it.

The trail led him to Under-City. A section of the island that had sunk, shifted and was partially buried during the quake. Batman was appalled at how the damage on the island had been ignored. The city officials had chosen for years not to act claiming the island was a State responsibility. For several months now he, as Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox of Wayne Enterprises had approached both state and federal agencies to rectify the situation on the island; to do something with it that was more constructive than just letting it rot. The talks had slowed down to a snail's pace however but tonight he resolved that he couldn't wait for the government to move. Gotham was his city after all and he felt it was up to him to do something about the condition of Arkham Island.

The Under-City had once been a commercial district with small shops and a few low-rent apartment buildings most of which had been abandoned long before the temblor. A huge fault, two blocks long, had opened during the earthquake and the taller buildings on either side had folded over it covering the gigantic fissure. Beneath the rubble smaller structures that were damaged but still stood amid the jagged rock of the island's heart served as a place to live and hide for the more desperate dwellers of the Broken City.

The entire area was dangerously unstable and intensely eerie. Only a dim glow of filtered sunlight reached the desolate grotto in infrequent shafts of luminescence. Debris that had fallen from the damaged structures above littered the sunken street. The continuous sound of dripping water could be heard over the intermittent but more ominous rumble and grinding that reverberated throughout the area as gravity worked upon the tenuous ceiling of the Under-City. An oppressive heaviness seemed to shroud the entire place, as if, at any moment, the sky could literally come crashing down and obliterate everything and everyone beneath it. The crumbling buildings and the outcroppings of natural rock that jutted up from the uneven and partially paved ground gave the whole area an unsettling and surreal atmosphere; Batman felt as if he had stepped into a perilous, alien world…

Dawn had come but the morning sun could not completely penetrate the gloom of the Under-City and neither could the satellite uplink. Batman had lost the trail he was following. He returned the PDA to it's place on his belt and switched his cowl's lenses to infrared. It wasn't as precise as the thermal imaging the satellite could offer; he could not see residual heat trails but it was still an advantage. He alternated his vision between normal and infrared and scanned the area as he moved deeper into the grotto that was the Under-City.

As Batman traversed along cracked and sloped pavement his suit soon became dusted with the residue that sifted down from the looming and disintegrating concrete above him. Ahead, deeper into the dangerous under-city Batman heard a shuffling sound of someone moving around in the shadows.

Batman smelled him before he saw him. He was tall and thin, almost emaciated. The man's clothes were ragged, stiff with grime and patched with large rough stitches. He was hunched over in a doorway of what was once a pawnshop deftly skinning a rat with a box-cutter blade. This man wasn't his quarry; he didn't match Charcoal's description. Still, the rat-skinner might know if Cole had passed this way. Batman approached the man and held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

The man turned, his shaggy grey hair and beard almost entirely covered his wrinkled face but it didn't hide his surprise at seeing a dark shadow materialize before his eyes. He was frightened at Batman's approach but the man didn't run, instead he brandished the bloody blade in his hand. "These here're my rats, you want one you either trade fer it or bleed fer it."

Batman slowly stepped closer, "I'm not here for your rats."

The man squinted up at him, "You're that Bat-feller ain't ya?"

Batman nodded the affirmative. Just then an ominous grinding noise was heard and they both looked up as a fine mist of pulverized cement dusted down upon them. Batman turned to the man, "You shouldn't be down here, it's not safe."

The man held up a freshly skinned rat carcass and with a toothless grin said, "Down here's the best place fer huntin'." He squinted again at the Bat-feller, "But you know that don'cha. You huntin' too."

"Yes, I'm looking for someone, a man, he's disfigured, has burn-scars. Have you seen anyone like that?"

The man's eyes narrowed, "Could be I saw someone scarred li'that… You got anythin' t'trade?"

Batman could have easily threatened the rat-skinner into giving up his information but not everyone on the island was a criminal - deserving of that kind of treatment. Besides, he honestly didn't want to get any closer; the man's stench was over-powering… Instead he said, "I'm sure we can work something out…"

After an agreement had been reached with the aromatic rat-skinner, Batman had a definite direction to follow. He quickened his pace and delved deeper into the Under-City. The malodorous man had said that he saw Cole crawl into a man-hole that led to the sewers just up the broken street earlier that morning.

He found the sewer entrance, it's metal cover left beside it. Batman cautiously climbed down the rusting ladder that led into the inky depths. At the bottom and before he switched on the light on his gauntlet he scanned the tunnel that ran roughly north to south in infrared but he could see no signs of Cole in either direction. He stood for a moment in the darkness listening.

He could hear something, a echo from far down the passage. It was a grinding noise but he wasn't sure if it was Cole or the unnatural settling of the cracked and quake-damaged tunnel. He switched on his light and panned it's brightness on the ground around his feet. He saw a tell-tale footprint in the muck which confirmed the direction he percieved the sound came from: North. _Cole seems to be moving back toward the asylum, why?_

The underground tunnel was broken and twisted when the earthquake shuffled the island's landscape. Rubble that had fallen from the tunnel walls littered it's floor making the passage treacherously uneven. But worse were the sections that were raised or lowered as the earth shifted during the quake dissecting the tunnel, making the debris filled gaps dangerous obstructions that could break free and bury anyone alive who dared to venture through.

Batman moved carefully through the broken tunnel for what seemed like an eternity. He came across another broken section and had to climb to reach the passage again but at the top he noticed the brick wall had broken away to reveal another much smaller conduit. Inside Batman could see a metallic shimmer as his light passed over the gap in the tunnel wall. Corrugated stainless steel pipes ran almost parallel with the sewer system here. The pipes shone because something had scraped the dirt and grime off. Batman scanned the pipes for prints and found a match; Charles Cole.

All at once Batman realized what Cole had been doing down here. Before the earthquake these lines had fed the island with natural gas. They were not in operation now but if Cole had found a way to connect these lines with those that still fed the asylum…

Just then Batman felt and heard a loud grinding and a rumbling that tossed and shook the passage. As loose bricks and gravel rained down on him, Batman realized the ground wasn't just settling… the tunnel was collapsing!

* * *

He felt like he was entombed. Batman coughed as the falling dust settled around him. He was inside a small conduit that contained the gas pipes that ran parallel to the sewer system. He had dove inside when the drainage tunnel collapsed, it was either that or be crushed by falling rock. The light on his gauntlet was still on and he could see the conduit stretch far ahead and behind him.

The tunnel was tight. He had barely enough room to lift his head. Briefly he thought that maybe the ears on his cowl weren't such a great idea, but they had their uses: They were, among other things, signal amplifiers and transmitters used by the com-system built into his cowl. Advances in technology had reduced their size over the years and he was thankful for that at least. He had tried to contact Oracle but he was buried too deep. The signal was powerful but there was only so much solid rock it could penetrate.

Batman moved forward, he didn't really have a choice. He couldn't turn around and the idea of moving backward through this constricted passage was unappealing to say the least. He hoped there was no obstruction ahead, if there was he'd be trapped. There would be no going back, the entrance to the sewer-tunnel behind him was sealed tight. He believed he was moving in the right direction in any event. He was travelling roughly north and he suspected that was the direction Charcoal was heading.

It was slow going. Batman regulated his pace for endurance rather than speed but after more than an hour of dragging his own body weight and that of his armor through the narrow passage, he was beginning to tire. In spite of the fact that he had been awake almost forty-eight hours however, he did not slow down. If Charles Cole was doing what he suspected many innocent and a few not so innocent, lives were in grave danger.

He struggled on. It was probably approaching midday now and Batman's only consolation was that he believed Charcoal would not put his plan into effect until nightfall: The flames would be much more dramatic at night.

* * *

The sun was high, at the top of the sky and warm on his scarred and hairless head. Charcoal had emerged out of the Under-City and had opened all the gas-line safety valves along the way. Some were damaged and would leak but that didn't matter, he didn't really have to do anything to those ones other than open the valves and fix them so they stayed open. The undamaged ones though, those required a little more work but a little ingenuity and a make-shift blowtorch had fixed them good. He had three more gas-mains to open before he would be ready for tonight and two of those were in the more populated area's of the Broken City. He would have to be careful, he would have to hide his appearance. He would scare them otherwise and they might attack. He couldn't let anything stop him now, certainly not the unscarred ones. Charcoal smiled to himself… _Unscarred for now, but that would soon change. _

The last one would be the most challenging: The main line that led to the asylum. It was the key to the whole thing; the final part of his wondrous plan. But it was located close to the asylum, just outside it's walls. He couldn't afford to be seen; he would have to wait until dusk to 'fix' that one. Until then however, he had the time to set up a few things he thought of as insurance, just in case anything or anyone interfered with his plans.

In the meantime he would avoid any contact with the people of the Broken City. He was more than ready to die, but not in a brawl with some hairy neanderthal. No, he would go in the flames and come out with the ashes. Flames and ashes, ashes and flames, he and all the rest on this miserable godforsaken rock!

* * *

Batman thought he could sense the conduit rising, it became harder to pull himself through but that could also be caused by his own fatigue. He had been at this it seemed for hours. He had tried to get through to Oracle a number of times but he was still buried to deep. He could see small cracks in the walls of the narrow and slightly oval passage but for the most part the conduit was in much better shape than the sewer had been. Perhaps the construction of the volatile gas-line was done with more care or maybe it was more structurally sound simply because it was smaller. To Batman it seemed to be getting smaller with every meter he passed through.

As Batman moved tediously through the narrow conduit his thoughts wandered. His mind seemed to want to drift back to the night of the asylum riot and escapes of it's own accord. There were several inmates still on the loose and all of them were laying low. He'd heard not a whisper from any of his contacts within Gotham's underground. The escapees had become Batman's top priority as he had put all his other cases on hold, but the two that worried him most were Jonathon Crane and Victor Zsasz.

In the days since their disappearance there hadn't been a victim of either of their MO's reported which was a good thing, but it also didn't leave any evidence to follow. This was the calm before the storm and God knew what the storm would bring.

Batman paused a moment and tried his com-unit again but he could hear nothing, the signal still could not punch through all the rock he was under. He resumed his slow progress through the passage. After a time his mind drifted again.

Batman's thoughts strayed back to the trap Crane set for him within the bowels of Arkham. He still wasn't sure exactly what Crane was trying to do. Was the effect the toxin had what Crane intended? Usually the Scarecrow's concoctions inspired fear but that was far from the result his exposure stirred. Was his intent to undermine his confidence? To elicit guilt? Rage? If it was, than in some measure Crane succeeded. Though Batman would never admit that to anyone but himself, and maybe Alfred, and only because he had to some extent, witnessed Batman's ordeal in the asylum.

_All your fault. _Those words played over and over in his mind ever since that night. His thoughts explored the ramifications of those words and of the sense of futility they inspired. He had begun to feel as if he has been vainly holding back the tide with a spoon. For every criminal he has stopped there were dozens, perhaps hundreds still on the loose. Was he really making a difference?

What's more, an especially disturbing thought arose in the aftermath of that night: What if he, the Batman, was the reason there was so much insanity in Gotham City? What if all those successes during his early years only created more and more of these flamboyant and demented villains? Dangerous psychopaths willing to pit themselves against the vaunted Batman for nothing more than notoriety and to earn a name for themselves among the infamous? Was that all he had become? A yardstick with which all these demented criminals could measure themselves against?

He had created the 'Batman' to inspire fear and to fight injustice but all it seemed to have done is enhance the sense of insanity around him and provoke or challenge the egos of the criminal underworld. No other city in the country, perhaps the world had so many bizarre and grandiose felons. Batman had begun to wonder if he had drawn them here. Was he, the Batman, the disease Gotham City suffers from and was the criminal element that exists here just a symptom? Did Batman's very existence create these monsters?

Batman had begun to question his purpose. In Arkham, when he was under the influence of Crane's toxin, he remembered everything. Every action, every emotion. The futility, the anger. He had felt that he was caught up in an endless cycle and now he wondered if he was the cause of it. Was it truly… _all his fault_?

Reality invaded these grim thoughts… the tunnel _was_ rising and Batman could hear static through his com-link…

"B - - n you - - me? - - I - ave - - try - for - our - I ca - - a - ix on - loc - - - Bru - - Ca - ear - ease - spon -"

It was Oracle trying to communicate. He tried to respond but it didn't appear that she'd heard him. Batman's thoughts of doubt and guilt were ushered to the back of his mind as he focused on the job he had to do, had chosen to do.

He quickened his pace. He needed to inform Oracle of the danger here. She could hack into the municipal distribution station and cut off the natural gas supply to the island. And he needed to know where exactly that station was on Arkham Island. He was sure that was where he would find Charcoal, but he had to find a way out of this conduit first.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book Two: Combustion**_

_**Part Three: Ignition**_

* * *

**Oh Day Of Fire and Sun**

**_Oh day of fire and sun,_**  
**_Pure as a naked flame,_**  
**_Blue sea, blue sky and dun_**  
**_Sands where he spoke my name;_**

_Sarah Teasdale_

_(1884-1933)_

* * *

_Gotham City,_

_The Broken City_

Charcoal watched the people gather. There were many of them, too many. He wouldn't be able to get to the sewer access tunnel without being seen. It was the last one he needed to fix before he was free to set his plan in motion. Then the flames would be free to dance over everything on this malevolent island. And all those unscarred ones would dance as well, it will be a wonderful sight!

He didn't understand why they had gathered there until he saw the boat. It was small, little more than a rowboat with a single man inside. There was a pier and as soon as the people saw that was where the boat was headed they all rushed for it but at the foot of the dock they hesitated. Char, who stood a hundred yards away, wouldn't have gone near it, he was having enough trouble being this close to the black water. He hated the smell of it, that sour stench of salt, garbage and dead fish. Charcoal remained where he was and watched. He hoped the people would finish whatever it was they had gathered there for and leave soon. He had work to do and they were wasting his precious time.

The dock was free-floating, having been dislodged from it's moorings long ago. The people of the Broken City knew that it would sink if too many set their feet upon it. Only one broke from the crowd and he nimbly sprinted down the dipping quay. He was a lanky black teenager and his build was slight enough not to cause the dock to sink too far; he only got his feet wet. When he reached the small craft he and the boat's sole occupant exchanged certain items that the boy stowed away in a backpack, then he waited as the boat moved toward the shore and the rest of the people waiting to trade with the rowboat captain's modest wares from the mainland. When the others' attention was focused on the boat as it landed Squirrel again agilely scurried back to shore and disappeared into a nearby building; an old cannery.

The structure of Arkham island was made up almost wholly of granite with a layer of softer topsoil that was much easier to dig through but it's depth varied from location to location. As a result few buildings on the island had basements, but the old cannery was one of those few.

Built in the roaring twenties the fish cannery flourished at a time when the bay it depended on wasn't nearly as fouled as it would become. Fifty years of accumulated pollution later the cannery, much like the fish of Gotham Bay, went belly-up.

The building itself was solidly built however, it's basement included, except for the small fissure the quake opened up that lead into the sewer system. Squirrel, with the aid of a small flashlight quickly darted down the back stairs of the old cannery, hopping over those steps that were missing, delving deeper into it's dark basement. He found the crack in the wall and squirmed inside.

The tunnel here smelled terrible. Subject to almost constant flooding there was a pervasive odor of mildew along with the salty tang of seawater, refuse and decaying sea-life. Squirrel turned away from the tunnel's bay-ward exit and followed the passage as it gently climbed inland. He used this spot to stow imperishable or sealed goods like batteries and fuel among other things. The dampness of this particular cache would ruin almost everything else. Otherwise it was a good spot; the smell alone deterred most people from snooping around and few could get through the narrow fissure that led to the tunnel.

Squirrel loped along the passage, his hidden cache wasn't far; just around a curve in the tunnel there was an access room for some type of utility that hadn't worked in years but the door to the place worked just fine. Squirrel had rigged a combination lock on the door, he was confident no one could get inside without bolt cutters, if they even found this spot. Squirrel smirked, _not even the Bat found this place._

As he strode around the curve of the passage to his hidden room Squirrel was startled as he stopped in his tracks; he had come face to face with a hideously scarred man…

* * *

Batman felt a puff of air on his face. He stopped a moment, he wanted to be sure that it wasn't just his imagination. He felt it again and hope rose; there was a light at the end of the tunnel, or at least some fresher air.

"_Batm - can y - hear - e?_

"Oracle, I'm reading you. Respond if you can hear me." As Batman spoke the conduit opened up into a room. It was an access juncture built just off the main sewer line. The walls were cracked and the only door in the room seemed to be wedged in it's twisted frame but for the most part, the room was intact.

When Oracle responded the relief was more than evident in Barbara's voice, _"__Finally! Where have you been? I was ready to send the big guns out after you! What happened?__"_

"No need, I'm fine. I had a little delay…" Batman inspected the gas-line safety valve, it was opened then welded in place, he had no doubt it was Charcoal's doing.

"_Delay!? You know there are certain protocols we follow when out in the field, protocols __You__ helped design I might add__…__ and one of the most important is__…__ we always check in when going into a hazardous situation! __…__ Bruce you went into Under-City, you know how unstable that place is, you__…"_

"Oracle!" Batman had enough of the dressing-down, they had other priorities at the moment. "I understand but we have more pressing matters…" Batman explained what he suspected Charcoal was up to with the gas lines and Oracle put aside her chagrin for the moment, he knew it certainly wasn't forgotten, but for now she was all business.

"_Okay, got the main pumps powered down, informing Dad right now, he can deal with Gotham Gas and Power. The only problem is the gas already in the lines to the island. They can still do a lot of damage.__"_

"If I find Cole first that won't be an issue." Batman inspected the metal door to this small room; It was lodged in the warped frame and he could smell fresher air drifting through the gaps around it.

"_I__'__m smelling a lot of __'__ifs__'__ off this plan__…"_

"Trust me."

"_Hffft__…__ I trusted you to follow protocol__…"_

"Oracle…"

"_Ya I know, later__…__ I__'__ve just sent you the location of the municipal distribution station, it__'__s built adjacent to the walls of Arkham. I also sent you the locations of all the release valves on the island. I can__'__t access those, if he manages to open the line from the asylum__…"_

"He won't." Batman had a hold of the door handle and pulled. The bottom of the door gave a bit but the top was wedged tight.

"_Dad is alerting the Arkham facility and the emergency services including the bomb squad, just in case this all goes south.__"_

Batman braced his foot against the door frame, gave a mighty heave and the door flew open. "Alerting them is fine but tell the Commissioner not to let them move in yet. Charcoal has had days alone on the island, there's no telling what else he's been doing or how many traps he's laid."

"_Dad__'__s not going to like that, but I__'__ll tell him.__"_

Batman stepped through the door and into the tunnel. He soon found a ladder that led to an exit. Sunlight shone through the holes of the manhole cover above. "Give me some time to catch him, Cole might talk once he's in custody."

"_Understood. Good luck and__…__ keep me posted this time!__"_

* * *

Squirrel had never been so afraid in his young life and for someone who had lived that whole life in the Broken-City, that was saying something. The Arkham crazy brought the blue flame of the blowtorch close to the boy's face and Squirrel could feel the heat from it.

"Have you ever been burned little squirrel?"

"S-sure, a-a camp stove." The Prof had told him, when he was younger, that if he ever met a crazy person he should just agree to everything he said, and no matter how weird or random their questions were, answer them quickly and as if they were the most normal inquiries in the world. It was good advice and valuable considering the craziest of crazy-houses in the world was right here on the island, Squirrel's home.

He missed The Prof, right now more than ever. He had taken care of Squirrel when he was too young to take care of himself. He taught him how to read, write and other things normally taught in a school but more important he taught him how to survive. Squirrel had no doubts that he would be long dead if not for The Prof. Even now as the old man's words floated into Squirrel's mind, the boy thought, _he__'__s still taking care of me_.

"Did it hurt?"

"Y-yes."

"Did it leave a scar?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

Squirrel lifted his hand, never taking his eyes off the flame. He turned his hand to reveal a small scar that ran along the outside of his thumb. Charcoal traced his own puckered finger down the small pinkish scar on the boy's dark skin. "Do you remember this pain little squirrel? Did tears come to your eyes? Did you cry out?"

"Yes, it hurt, I remember, I was younger, I-I cried."

Charcoal pushed the teenager against the wall of the small room they were in; a utility juncture in the drainage sewer, Squirrel's secret cache. The disfigured man brought the torch closer and Charcoal showed the boy his scarred hand and face in the flame's light. "Then perhaps you can imagine the pain I endured in some small measure. Turn around."

The boy was perplexed and too slow to move… "I said TURN AROUND!" Charcoal grabbed the boy by the shoulder and spun him around, pressing his face into the cold damp brick of the wall. Squirrel could feel the maniac's hot breath on the back of his neck, "It is a pain I would be more than willing to share little squirrel, unless you do exactly as you are told. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes."

Charcoal pulled Squirrel's hands behind his back and tied them using the nylon drawstring from the boy's backpack. Cole spun Squirrel around again and motioned for him to sit and the boy sank to the damp and grimy floor. "Now let us see to your treasure trove here shall we?" Charcoal began with the boy's open backpack. He pulled out batteries, a couple of fluorescent light sticks, a flashlight and two thin silver Mylar blankets, one of which Squirrel was going to keep for himself. Then Charcoal gasped as something inside the pack cut him, "What's this?" he said as he pulled out one of the bat-shaped shuriken the boy had found and kept after his meeting with the Bat. Holding the small weapon up to the light of the flame Charcoal turned to the boy and Squirrel's heart sank.

"Do you know a secret little squirrel?"

"I-I don't…"

In an instant the maniac lunged at the boy pushing him against the wall, the blowtorch in one scarred hand and the shuriken in the other, then he brought them together inches from Squirrel's face. Charcoal stared into the boy's eyes as he heated one corner of the small metallic weapon until it glowed red.

Squirrel stammered, "I-I just found it."

"Really? And the other four, you just found those too?"

"Yeah, he must have been fighting someone."

Still holding the shuriken to the flame, his fingers began to blister as he held the heated metal but Charcoal didn't seem to notice as he considered Squirrel's words. He nodded, "That could very well be true, or not… Lies lay like ash in ones mouth, my mother used to say, before she burned away." He chucked then, amused with his rhyme. "Only one way to find out if you're telling me true little squirrel…"

The boy shrunk away as Charcoal brought the hot metal bat closer to his face. "Please, don't… please…" Squirrel could feel the heat from the tiny burning bat that hovered just a hair's breath over his bare skin and he panicked "I-I'll tell, I'll tell you…" The glowing red blade retreated.

"It better be the truth now or I'll burn bat-shaped brands all over your skinny little body. Understand?"

"Y-yes, I-I understand."

Charcoal backed off as Squirrel, feeling sick and worthless, spoke the truth… "H-he's here, Batman is here, on the island, and… h-he's after you."

* * *

The bright burning orb in the sky had almost completed it's daily journey. It would be dark soon and Batman was running out of time.

The area around the asylum/prison was a ghost-town. The buildings were empty shells, no one from the Broken-City lived or even ventured this close to the prison if they didn't have to. As Batman raced through the deserted neighborhood of broken buildings and crumbled homes he could see the prison's walls looming above.

The distribution station was the only building standing within three-hundred meters of the prison walls. The lone and tiny metal structure that lay in the shadow of Arkham served only as a portal to a stairwell; Batman knew the gas-line conduits, pressure valves and gages were all located far below the small metal shed. As he approached he could see it's door was mag-locked and he could also see something small on the ground before it. The object was one of his own small bat-shaped shuriken and it looked as if it had been scorched. Batman scanned the area with his infrared lenses but could see nothing in the immediate vicinity.

"Oracle, has the satellite been monitoring this location?"

"_Yes, I__'__ve had eyes on it a soon as you had me find the place.__"_

"No one has approached?"

"_Nothing detected on thermal.__"_

"Switch to standard visual."

"_Stand-by__…__ Oh, that__'__s clever__…__ Someone did approach, they didn__'__t get too close though. Can__'__t get an ID, he was wrapped in some kind of metallic covering that bounced the thermal sensor. He moved in from the southwest then moved off. Time stamp indicates it was fifteen minutes ago.__"_

"Are you sure there isn't an underground access to the station?"

"_There isn__'__t in the island schematics, just smaller conduits containing the pipeline.__"_

"I just crawled through one earlier…"

"_But that one contained smaller residential lines, the ones from the asylum are industrial conduits, there shouldn__'__t be room__…"_

"… But you don't know that for certain."

"… _No, I don__'__t.__"_

"Is the satellite detecting any heat signatures in the area now?"

"_Stand-by__…__ I can__'__t see any residual trails, the air is still too warm__…__ Wait, I see something, four hundred meters from your location, southwest. It__'__s in a large building, it__'__s on fire__…__ Bruce I think there__'__s someone trapped__…"_

Batman was certain it was a diversion, but nevertheless he moved. He could see smoke just starting to rise in the southeast. "Keep eyes on a three block radius around the station, I want to know immediately if anyone approaches."

"_Got it, you want some back-up?__"_

"Let Gordon bring his people in, but have them keep their distance. And find out if there is anyone who knows if there's any subterranean access to that station."

"_Will do.__"_

* * *

The building was burning. It was a four story high apartment that was already leaning dangerously over a smaller brownstone next to it. Batman knew this was just a ploy to keep him away from the distribution station but if there was even one person inside… One of the cornerstones of his moral code was… 'Never sacrifice a life, even for the greater good.' There was always another way… Batman entered the burning building.

The entrance foyer was a shambles even without the fire that raged around him. Batman immediately put a device over his mouth that completely covered the bottom half of his face much like the re-breather he had in his amphibious vehicle, but this one didn't supply oxygen, it only filtered out the poisoned air within the smoke.

His voice was somewhat muffled behind the filter but he called out as loudly as he could, he had to be sure there was no one on this level before he moved on. Oracle said she saw someone trapped but that would have to be on one of the upper floors, even the advanced satellite could not see through multiple floors of a building on fire, but that didn't mean there wasn't more than one person trapped inside.

There was an elevator ahead, one of the doors had been partially wedged open. Next to it was a door that led to a stairwell but it was hot; the paint on it was bubbling. There would be no using the stairs. His suit and cape were treated with a flame retardant compound but that didn't make him impervious to heat; he could still roast inside his fire-proof armor. Batman turned back to the elevator. When he looked inside he could see the broken elevator compartment below him and he noted that there was a basement to this building. Above him he could see the shaft was dark and flame-free so far. Batman shot a grapple up to the next level and attached it to his belt so he would have both hands free to force open the doors.

After checking the second and the third floors and finding no one, Batman returned again to the elevator shaft. He could see flames flare up from the broken elevator door of the main floor below; there would be no going back that way. As soon as he pried open the third set of doors he could hear a muffled screaming from someone on this, the topmost level.

This floor had only two suites, one on either side of the long sloping hallway that intersected them. The door was missing from one of the suites and the fire raged inside but that was not where the muffled voice was coming from. The other apartment's door was intact and locked but that only slowed the Batman down for the two seconds it took to kick it in.

As soon as the door was open Batman's heightened perception took in everything in the room. The apartment was an open design with few dividing walls; a loft. There was a ring of fire burning through the hardwood floor and in it's center was a figure balancing his weight on the back of a broken and burning chair with only three legs. There was a nylon noose around his neck tied to a wooden beam in the open ceiling above him. His hands were tied behind his back and a rag was wrapped around the bottom half of his face. His muffled cries abated when Batman burst through the door. It was Squirrel and the look of relief was unmistakable in his eyes.

Suddenly Squirrel's relief turned to panic as the chair beneath him began to slide and sink. The floor was weakening, but worse; the fire ravaged structure shuddered with the thunderous sound of cracking timber and disintegrating supports. The building was collapsing!

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book Two: Combustion**_

_**Part Four: Inferno**_

* * *

**Oh Day Of Fire And Sun**

_**Oh day of fire and sun**_

_**Like a crystal burning,**_

_**Slow days go one by one,**_

_**But you have no returning.**_

Sarah Teasdale

(1884-1933)

* * *

_The Broken City_

Squirrel could feel the noose tightening as his feet slipped on the burning and sinking chair. In spite of his panic the teenager watched with fascination at the speed with which Batman moved. The instant after he kicked in the door the whole building rocked and shuddered but Batman didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrist he threw a small projectile; a bat-shaped shuriken exactly like the five Squirrel had collected the day before. The small razor-sharp blade unerringly cut the rope above the boy's head and Squirrel began to fall. The Batman was a dark blur of motion as he sped through the fire and caught Squirrel before he fell through the collapsing floor.

But Batman didn't stop. With the boy over his shoulder he crossed the room as the floor disintegrated behind him and burst through a window. In mid-air Batman shifted the boy in his arms and activated his cape. The unique black material instantly resolved into it's glider formation. The cape wasn't designed to carry the weight of two people but it did slow their fall to the roof of the brownstone next door.

After they landed Batman glanced down at the boy, he was still gagged but he saw his eyes widen in horror at something over his shoulder. He followed the boy's gaze and saw the burning building they just escaped leaning threateningly: Then, with an ominous groan the towering inferno began to fall toward them. Again Batman took a running leap off the side of the smaller building and activated his cape, gliding them as far away from the imminent destruction behind them as he could.

They landed in the opening of an alley and still carrying the boy, Batman took two strides before the impact of the falling building knocked him off his feet. The shockwave shook the island and the already weakened structures around them. A thunderous cloud of hot air, ash, and dust enveloped them and Batman felt multiple impacts as pieces of burning wood, cement, plaster and other debris battered his back, but he did his best to shield the vulnerable boy with his cape and his own armored body.

* * *

When the dust settled Batman let go of the boy and cut the rope that bound his hands and as he did he could feel a sharp stab erupt in his side. He guessed he had a couple of cracked ribs, he would need a moment... Batman removed the filter from his face and wearily asked, "Was there anyone else in there?" Squirrel immediately pulled the dirty rag from his own face and tried to answer but coughed instead, finally he shook his head.

Squirrel looked, really looked at the man that just saved his life. He was covered in grey dust and knelt on one knee, head bent, in pain. Around him Squirrel could see jagged chunks of the building as big as his head and wondered how many of them hit the Bat, _how many would have hit me? _Squirrel gazed behind the Batman at the huge pile of rubble that was all that was left of two buildings, _Hell, I__'__d be dead in the middle of all that__…__ if it wasn__'__t for him. _Squirrel watched the Bat as he stood up, he saw how he put a hand to his side under his cape which had gaping rips and slashes through it. Batman was injured and Squirrel wondered if he could do that, if he could risk himself to save another's life, someone he hardly knew.

Growing up in the Broken City Squirrel learned the first lesson of survival was every man for himself, but then there was The Prof. He didn't have to take care of a young boy, little more than a toddler. He didn't have to feed him, clothe him, teach him, but he did.

Squirrel again looked up at the Batman. He would never have guessed yesterday that the Bat would have saved his life today. Squirrel couldn't believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he was deathly afraid of him, truly believing the Bat would have beaten him senseless. Then he came to the daunting conclusion that he would, if Squirrel ever became a bad-ass like that maniac firebug, Batman would hunt him down and haul him off to the cops… Then, for the first time in Squirrel's young life he wondered where was he heading, where he would be in ten or twenty years? He got a second chance today, what was he going to do with it?

Batman looked down at the teenager and Squirrel could see genuine concern in his eyes when he asked, "Are you hurt?" Squirrel tried to speak but his voice refused to work, Squirrel could only shake his head again because he couldn't stop coughing. "Lets get you away from all this dust…" Batman said as he removed the noose that still hung around the boy's neck and began to guide him away from the wreckage.

But Squirrel didn't move, "No, I have to tell you…" he wheezed, his voice was hoarse from all the smoke and the dust and the screaming. "I know where he's going… the Firebug."

"I know where he's going too Squirrel, you need to get away from here, quickly."

"No!" The boy was adamant. "I know… how he's going to get there."

"Tell me, then get as far away as you can."

"It's quicker if I show you, it's not far. Let me help… Let me help you catch that crazy bastard!"

* * *

It was all going wrong! His plan for the island, for the unscarred ones, all gone like a puff of smoke without flame. Charcoal was miserable. He well knew the Batman worked with the police in Gotham. If he suspected Char's plan, days of work and preparation will have all been for naught, all because of the Batman and that kid. Charcoal was sorely disappointed that he could not watch the boy burn in the fire, he could only hope that the Batman burned with him. He had gotten out of the basement of the building only moments before it collapsed and filled the tunnel beneath it with rubble. Charcoal wished he could have seen the flaming building fall, he wished he knew for sure his enemies fell with it. But he didn't know and he had to work on the assumption that at least the Batman survived. He couldn't afford to take any chances. He may not be able to take out the entire island now, but he could at least take out that dreadful asylum. Oh yes, Arkham Asylum will burn tonight!

* * *

The sun glowed brilliantly red in the darkening sky as did it's twin, the sun's reflection off the darker waters of the Gotham Bay. As they met on the horizon and slowly became one, Batman contacted his own eye in the sky. Oracle had found a Gotham Gas and Power employee that claimed the schematics _were_ wrong. The conduit that led out from the distribution station to the general area of the island were the smaller residential lines and they could indeed provide enough space for someone to crawl through but it was a moot point, Squirrel had already provided Batman with that information.

Against his better judgement Batman let Squirrel lead him to the shoreline near Arkham's walls. As Squirrel led Batman to a drainage ditch near the shore, he reluctantly explained how he knew about this entrance: Apparently the boy moonlighted as a mail carrier for the inmates of the asylum. Someone, long before Squirrel took the job, had rigged a pulley system through the conduit inside the station that led to the asylum. It didn't have room for a person to travel through it but small items could be pulled through, small items like letters the inmates didn't want the Arkham staff to read. Squirrel didn't know who was on the other side of the tunnel, he'd never seen or talked to them, he just had to be there at an appointed time every couple of weeks and he never dropped off any mail, he just picked it up along with his bi-weekly payment. His job was to simply take the letters and mail them. Batman decided that he and Squirrel would have a long talk about that later.

Squirrel stopped at the entrance of a large tunnel. The boy informed the Bat that it got smaller deeper inside. When Batman told him to leave Squirrel insisted he had to go inside too, "You'll miss it if I'm not there to show you." Batman doubted that but he didn't have time to argue, he did however take the lead. He unclipped his gauntlet light and gave it to the boy before he switched his cowl's lenses to infrared.

The glaring light of the setting sun grew dimmer as they quickly travelled deeper into the tunnel. The passage did indeed become smaller and Batman had to hunch over, even Squirrel had to duck his head but that didn't slow their pace. Still, their progression seemed to take much too long. Batman knew he was running out of time. Cole was probably already inside the station, preparing for whatever it was he planned to do.

Batman's internal sense of direction deduced that they were getting close. He was proven right when he felt the boy silently tug on his cape behind him. When he turned he saw the boy looking and pointing up. In the ceiling of the tunnel there was a hole and inside he could see the small corrugated-steel gas-lines.

He motioned the boy to stay quiet and back away and he did as Batman cautiously peered inside the conduit. The first thing he noticed was the smell of gasoline; the pipes were soaked with it's oily residue and he could see light at the end of the tunnel. The hole itself was jagged, roughly diamond-shaped and although it wasn't overly small, Batman would have to make it bigger if he was going to pull his armored body through.

Batman turned to Squirrel. The boy had backed off but he didn't leave. He whispered as he approached, "You have been invaluable help Squirrel but you need to leave right now, get away as fast as you can."

The boy looked concerned, "But there was more I needed to tell you, our agreement remember? Will you be there tonight?"

"I haven't forgotten," Batman glanced back at the hole in the ceiling, "but if I'm not there I want you to give your information to Commissioner Gordon. I've already arranged for your payment, it'll be there."

Suddenly and oddly selflessly Squirrel didn't care about the payment so much anymore. "But _You__'__re_ gonna be there right?"

"I'll certainly try, but if I'm not I want you to contact the Commissioner, tell him that 'Jody' has some information for him. It's code, he'll know to speak to you directly and in secret. Can you do that?"

"Yes, but…" Squirrel wanted to argue, he wanted to stay and make sure that ugly son-of-a-bitch got what was coming to him but mostly he just wanted to help. Ever since The Prof died and Squirrel had been on his own he adopted the same grim outlook that everyone else in the Broken City had; a secluded dispassionate self-absorption. When the old Prof was alive there was something still alive inside Squirrel, it may have only been because he was a child but his relationship with the old man, the only real father he had, brought it out in him; a sense of compassion, of decency and hope. The events of the day had stirred those sleeping emotions. Squirrel was doing something that mattered and not just to himself, or for himself. He didn't want to let that feeling go and… he was worried about Batman. He was hurt, walking behind him Squirrel could see how he favored his side, he was going to go in there with that psycho, injured. "But you're hurt, I can still help, I can…"

Then Batman's voice grew firmer, "No Squirrel, you've done more than enough. I can't do what I need to do if I'm worrying about your safety. You need to leave and quickly."

"But…"

"No buts. Go… Now!"

Batman could see the disappointment on his face but finally the boy turned on his heel and sped down the tunnel. He still had Batman's powerful gauntlet-light and it's small bright beam bounced along the passage as he went. As the light disappeared around a long curve of the tunnel Batman contacted Oracle, "You heard that?"

"_Yes, you__'__re hurt?__"_

"It's nothing, I meant about the boy."

"_I did. He has information?__"_

"Yes, but more importantly, I want him watched."

"_That__'__s over thirty now. You think he__'__ll turn?__"_

"I think he already has."

* * *

As silently as he could Batman began to pull away broken bricks and mortar from around the edges of the gap in the conduit above. The pain in his side deepened and he wondered if he didn't break something when the burning building almost fell on him and the boy... Batman was a little surprised at Squirrel's concern and that was one of the many reasons he had Oracle add Squirrel to the 'list' of those he had watched.

The 'list' was comprised of Gotham civilians he had encountered over the past few years. They were people who had potential but lived in environments that put them at risk. Batman knew, even with the vast wealth and resources of Bruce Wayne, he could not help everyone and he also knew that just raining money on the slums of Gotham didn't really help the people there, not in the long term. Those on the list were mostly young people, like Squirrel, and at risk of going either way: They could become valuable members of society, even allies or they could turn the other way; become addicts, criminals or corpses.

To Batman, saving Gotham City wasn't just about hunting down it's criminals, it was also about preventing new criminals from being created. Batman and his allies secretly offered these people opportunities they may never had gotten otherwise. Opportunities that helped them realize their own potential. Those on the list would receive assistance and they didn't even know they were getting it. A gentle nudge here and there, a chance meeting with the right person or people in positions to help them help themselves. A lucky break in the form of a job that had a future, or a scholarship. He knew there were hundreds probably thousands more out there that needed help. He knew he may never find them all but he did what he could… one person at a time.

Batman judged the opening large enough and he again attached the filter to his cowl, completely enclosing his body. He winced when the aching in his side intensified as he reached up but he gritted his teeth and pulled himself into the gas soaked conduit. Once inside he allowed himself only a second to deal with the pain before he began crawling through the constricted passage, the second one today. He could only hope he would get there before Charcoal put his plan into effect.

* * *

Charcoal was livid. It was just as he suspected. Somehow the Batman had found out about his plan and the gages on the central console in the room all indicated that there was no pressure in the lines; he would not be able to pump out the volatile fuel to the ports he had so painstakingly found and opened on the island. But there was still hope, he could still wipe that miserable asylum off the face the earth and the means to do that was laying dormant in the large industrial pipes before him. Like a fuse, the highly combustible mix of hydrocarbon gases would race through the conduits and erupt in a glorious spray of flaming destruction in every part of Arkham Asylum. All Charcoal had to do was ignite it and to do that he had to open up the main line: A large metal cylinder that was connected to the control panel-console. The console also supported the meters and gages that regulated the flow and pressure of the natural gas mains and the pressure release valves.

* * *

Batman was surprised to see the conduit opened out into a large room, easily four times the size of the small entrance shed above. As Batman quietly pulled himself through the conduit's exit, he could see Charcoal on the other side of the control panel. He could not see what the pyromaniac was doing but he could guess. Behind him a steep unlit stairway led up to the surface. Across from him on the other side of the control panel and high in the wall opposite was the conduit that contained the industrial gas-mains. Batman also noticed two empty gas-cans in a corner and the floor of the entire room glistened with the spilt fuel.

Charcoal knelt before the large pipe and was unscrewing the last of the bolts that connected it to the complex console that dominated the center of the room from floor to ceiling. He looked up with surprise and fury as a menacing dark form pulled himself through the opening. Batman spoke as he dropped down onto the gasoline sodden floor, "Give this up Cole. It's over."

A smile crossed Charcoal's disfigured face as he picked up his blowtorch, "Indeed it is Batman, for all of us."

Batman took a step forward, "No! Cole, it doesn't have to end like this…"

"Don't you see? It always ends in fire, it is the only constant in the universe and the only thing that will truly purify that diseased place, and you know it… don't you?" Not waiting for Batman's reply, Charles Cole dropped the lit blowtorch into the gasoline that encompassed the entire floor of the room.

The blaze sped out in a circle around the console and rushed toward Batman. The flames erupted all around him and continued past him, up the wall and into the conduit he just emerged from. Surrounded by the conflagration Charcoal madly kicked at the loose gas-pipe at his feet and it fell from it's housing to reveal the flexible plastic inner pipe beneath.

Batman leapt toward the console. Insanely laughing the disfigured maniac lunged toward the Batman. His ragged clothes afire Charcoal tried desperately to keep him from hindering his glorious flame. As they struggled Charcoal shouted, "No! You can't stop it! It wants to live! It want's to grow!"

As Batman tried to free himself from the clinging madman his fire retardant armor became aflame as the residual gasoline that coated it from the conduit he just crawled through ignited. Even his cape became heavy because the treated fabric melted rather than burned. And it was hot, so very hot. Batman could not imagine the pain Charcoal was in as his clothes burned off his body and blistered and blackened his already scarred skin. Charcoal's voice became a screeching frenzied howl, "Let it take you Batman, let the flame take you! It's glorious!" As they struggled Batman was horrified and sickened as pieces of Charcoal's skin stuck to his overheated and burning armor. Finally Batman heaved the struggling, clutching, melting madman away and reached for the control panel. Charcoal fell against a wall and crawled toward Batman as the fire consumed him all the while emitting a shrieking and screaming laughter that would haunt Batman's nightmares for years to come.

Batman turned the wheel of the emergency release valve as the plastic covering over the gas-main thinned and melted in the flames of the gasoline-soaked floor…

An instant after the plastic pipe succumbed to the heat it burst in an explosion that encompassed the entire room and shook the small shed above. The pyromaniac, entirely aflame now laughed and screamed manically. The concussion of the blast blew Batman backward into the stairwell as the entire room was instantly engulfed in flames… then the firestorm retreated back into the console and into the emergency exhaust port that led up through the ceiling.

* * *

Above ground Commissioner Gordon and his men along with the emergency services that surrounded the access shed gasped as one when the small structure exploded and a shaft of flaming hydrocarbon gases burst out from the ground before them.

* * *

Much further away Squirrel held the small light Batman had given him. He hadn't asked for it in the tunnel and Squirrel didn't think to offer it back. The boy wondered if he would ever get the chance to give him his light back when he saw a flaming spire suddenly light up the night sky. Squirrel didn't know if the sight was a good thing or not. Yesterday he wouldn't have cared if Batman was alive or dead. But, it wasn't yesterday anymore.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon insisted on going in there alone. The Fire Marshal had argued vehemently that it wasn't safe for anyone to approach yet but he finally relented when Gordon agreed to wear protective clothing. He donned a fireman's coat, gloves, hat and boots hastily and approached the huge jet of flame where the access shed once was. The stairwell descended from an open hole in the ground now that was only a few yards away from the exhaust port. It was hot, hellishly hot the closer he got to it.

He cautiously stepped down the stairs and wondered how much longer he could stand the heat. He also wondered what had gone on in this room only a few minutes ago. Was the Batman in there somewhere? If he was, he'd be injured, at least; no one could walk away from that explosion unscathed, not even the Batman.

The entire room was scorched and there were a few small fires still burning on the blackened floor, then he saw it. By the light of the fire that spewed out to the sky above, Gordon could see a single charred and twisted figure. As he approached it the spire of flame above him began to abate and the air around him became noticeably cooler. On the floor in a crumpled heap, his arm outstretched, reaching for something was Charles Cole, but there was no sign of Batman. James Gordon gazed down at the charred remains, barely recognizable as human. It was all that was left of Cole; a blackened shrivelled cinder: Charcoal.

* * *

Squirrel approached the collapsed grocery store, the site of one of his many caches and the place where he was to meet with the Batman tonight. Squirrel had a bad feeling that he wasn't going to show.

There was a crate already there, as big as a dumpster and all black, but there was no sign of the Bat. Squirrel was curious as to what was in it. Using the small bright light Batman had given him in the tunnel, Squirrel walked all the way around it trying to figure out a way to get inside. He spotted four long handles on one side and twisted one until it came off, he removed the rest and the whole panel lowered down.

The crate was full of items. Sleeping bags, tarps, flashlights, batteries, first-aid kits, large bottles of water and packages of food rations; the kind the army used he figured. Things the people of the Broken City needed to survive. His payment for the information he was to give.

Squirrel turned when he heard a noise behind him. He saw a shadow move around the corner of the building, but it wasn't him, it wasn't the Bat. It was just Templeton, the smelly old man that hunted rats in the Under-City. There were others behind him, all moving toward the crate. Yesterday Squirrel would have been angry, yesterday Squirrel would have wanted to keep it all for himself to hide away and trade later with these people. Now, he didn't care. He backed off and let the people take what they wanted.

On an old broken-down bus-stop bench Squirrel watched the people come from all directions. The old homeless men and bag ladies, the runaways, and other kids who got themselves in trouble and came here to hide-out. People for whatever reasons that ended up in the Broken City. The Prof had said there was two kinds of people here, those who were running away from their lives and those who had given up on living.

Squirrel had yet to fit himself in one of those categories and The Prof had always said that Squirrel didn't fit either but that was okay because fitting in within the Broken City wasn't a good thing.

Squirrel was born here, after the asylum became a prison and took over the island, displacing it's residents. Squirrel didn't remember his real parents at all. He had no idea what his real name was, or if he had any relatives somewhere. The Prof said he had found Squirrel wandering the ruined streets just after the earthquake hit the city. There was so much chaos then and the old man couldn't find anyone to help him find out where the young boy belonged so he kept the child with him, took care of him, grew to love him like a son. The Prof had always wanted Squirrel to get away from this place, the island. He said Squirrel was too smart to become a lifer like the old Prof. But Squirrel had no idea where he would go.

After the old man died Squirrel considered joining one of the gangs on the mainland. At least there would be other people around that would watch his back. He couldn't get a real job, he didn't have an identity, no birth certificate, he couldn't even get a library card. To the world just across the bay Squirrel didn't exist. And, he was comfortable here, he had a job, of sorts, and a home, sort of. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face that world just yet.

Squirrel watched the people come and go with armloads of stuff. Some would fight over something but the battle would break up and the larger combatant would take the prize. He sat there and watched for a very long time as the items inside the crate dwindled until it was empty and all the people went away to whatever hole they lived in.

Squirrel came to the grim conclusion that the Batman wasn't coming. He was hurt or dead. The feeling he had earlier, that feeling of being a part of something larger than himself, that connection to the world, was fading.

The despondency that infected everyone in the Broken City began to creep back. Squirrel rose, there was no point in waiting for something that wasn't going to happen, it was time to leave. He still had Batman's light and he didn't know what to do with it. He could leave in the crate but someone would just come and take it. He decided to keep it or maybe give it to the Commissioner.

Squirrel stopped. How was he going to contact Commissioner Gordon? Find a phone somewhere and call 911? He would have to go to the mainland, no one in the Broken City had a phone that would let him use without a price. And then what? Would the Commissioner put him in some orphanage? Squirrel didn't like that idea but he figured he could run away, run back here if he had to.

Squirrel turned from the black, empty crate and walked to his home, the place he slept and his thoughts grew darker with every step. It had been hours since he saw the flaming spire and Batman didn't show. He was probably dead. Squirrel tightened his grip on the light but he didn't turn it on, the almost full moon was bright enough to see by and the light would just turn him into a target; it was still dangerous here.

He reached his home, almost in the center of the Broken City. It was just a small house that had burned down but it was sturdily built and it had a basement, kind of. It was more like a hole under the house with rough cement walls. The heavy trap door was the only entrance but inside Squirrel would feel as safe as could be down there.

In his personal cache, his home, Squirrel kept the things that meant the most to him. Things the old Prof left him. His books, the small amount of money he had and the ring the Prof had worn on a string around his neck. As he approached the house Squirrel realized he had been thinking a lot about the old man lately and he didn't know why.

Squirrel was tired and his throat was still scratchy and sore. He just wanted to sleep and try to forget about this strange and crazy day, he just wanted his bed; a hammock really. He didn't like the idea of rats and bugs crawling on him while he slept and the rocking always helped him to drift off and forget, he thought he might need that tonight.

When he reached for the metal ring on the trap door Squirrel nearly jumped out of his skin when a rasping voice said his name behind him. He turned and saw the Bat emerge from the broken shadows of the small house. Squirrel's spirits rose in spite of himself. Batman was alive!

* * *

_This story continues in Goddess: Descention Book Three._


End file.
